Not an Adventure

We marked our progress with the bits of bread
That are traditional: the squirrels, birds,
And insects followed us in hungry herds.
So I remembered what Aunt Gretel said:
"Don't worry. Something will turn up." Misled
By feckless optimism, empty words,
And tuffet-sitters with their whey and curds,
We walked, calmly. We should have run instead.

This was not an adventure. We were lost,
Alone and friendless in the tulgey wood.
We left our home, our own safe neighbourhood,
To wander uselessly. A bit of frost,
A little sleet, a sudden holocaust,
The whims of Fortune played. We understood.